


Just The Way You Are

by StarlightBreeze557



Category: Leverage
Genre: (I will make that a tag or die trying), Age Regression, Eliot Spencer Angst, Eliot Spencer's Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Little Parker, Multi, No Dialogue, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Short & Sweet, Sub Eliot Spencer, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightBreeze557/pseuds/StarlightBreeze557
Summary: Parker isn't a typical little, and Eliot isn't a typical sub. Luckily for them, Hardison is not a typical person, either.Or, a plotless, no-dialogue, 1k exploration into the OT3's relationship and roles within.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Just The Way You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! This one is borne almost completely out of my desire to write Sub Eliot and my newfound love for Little Parker. That being said, it was also written at roughly 2am, so I apologise for any mistakes or subpar writing within. 
> 
> This is one of my only no-dialogue pieces, including things I have posted on my other AO3 account. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> With that being said, let's get on to the story! Kudos make my day and comments validate my existence, so please feel free to leave those, if you want :) I hope you have a wonderful day/night!
> 
> ~ Em

Parker wasn’t sure what littles were supposed to be, especially since some people didn’t think they should be anything or anyone at all, but she was sure that whatever, whoever they were supposed to be was nothing like her. Littles were supposed to be happy, at the very least. That’s the way they always were in the few books printed on the subject - bouncy, giggly, creative. _Fun_. Parker wasn’t fun. Parker was needy and clingy and teary. She wasn’t any kind of little anyone wanted, that was for sure. 

Eliot wasn’t sure what subs were supposed to be, especially since Fifty Shades of Grey came out and ruined the BDSM scene for anyone above the age of twenty-five, but he was sure that whatever, whoever they were supposed to be was nothing like him. Subs were supposed to be obedient, at the very least. That’s the way they were trained to be, even the hardest cases, in the books printed about the subject - obedient, subservient, docile. _Good_. Eliot wasn’t good. Eliot was quiet and emotional and bad. He wasn’t any kind of sub anyone wanted, that was for sure. 

Hardison didn’t know everything, even though he liked to play it up and act like he did sometimes, but he did know that he was good at making sure people who were sure about something weren’t so sure when he was through with them. He could hack bank accounts, find embarrassing Jamaican vacation photos, or ruin a mark’s life with nothing more than a mouse and a keyboard in front of him and a few well-placed clicks. He was good at taking a challenge and turning it into a success. He wasn’t good at everything, but he was good at Parker and Eliot. 

Chocolate made Parker happy, even though she’d never said so. She didn’t have to; Hardison could tell. When he’d taken her to a candy store for the first time, her face had lit up like it did when she jumped off of twelve-story buildings with the wind in her hair or stood outside at Christmastime with snowflakes on her lips and stars in her eyes. Too much sugar was bad for littles, but Hardison would do just about anything to put that look, that _smile_ , on her face. 

He would never admit it, but Eliot loved it when Hardison ran his fingers through his hair, his arms tight around him and providing the barest hint of the right kind of pressure, just enough so that Eliot would feel obligated to press closer to Hardison, seeking more. Hardison always worried that he would hurt Eliot - Eliot was _Eliot_ , yes, but he seemed so fragile sometimes, like his Nana’s breakable good china - but he always held him tighter when Eliot wanted it, left bruises when Eliot needed it, and made his kisses firm so Eliot would feel owned, wanted, _loved_.

Parker’s littlespace - though it _definitely_ included chocolate - wasn’t fun or happy most of the time, and she was sorry for it, Hardison knew, but he loved her, anyway. He loved the Parker that shuffled close to him and tugged on his sleeve to be picked up when she wanted to be close to Hardison. He loved the Parker that buried her face in the crook of his neck and sucked on the skin there until Hardison found her pacifier for her. The trust was present in every gesture, every tug on his sleeve or look in his direction or tear she let escape. It was trust that Hardison had had to _earn_ , and he was damn proud of it, too. 

Eliot hated to ask for things, and never asked for much. Hardison had become skilled at the art of ‘figuring out what Eliot needs’, which was just as hard, if not harder, than beating a Steranko, in Hardison’s completely unbiased opinion. Sometimes Eliot liked to cook while he talked, liked the distraction of the different ingredients and their preparation needs and the simmer of his masterpiece browning in Hardison’s frying pan. Hardison was a good listener, then, letting Eliot steer the boat while he made little nudges and adjustments over his shoulder. Sometimes Eliot didn’t want to talk, but he still needed to do _something_ about the emotions brewing firestorms in his chest, and those were the days when he would case the apartment for an hour, making sure everyone but Hardison was gone, before curling up next to Hardison and pressing his face to Hardison’s collarbone with shaking hands and tear-filled eyes. Hardison was Eliot’s anchor, then, keeping him from drifting too far out at sea. 

None of them were really sure how they had ended up like this, together in a way that was so much more than just _together_ , like different parts of the same engine that all worked together to support each other and power the car. All Hardison knew was that when he had Eliot on one side and Parker on the other, the world was okay and he was alright, even if it was just for a little while. 

Hardison had trouble believing, sometimes, that they were here for more than just a little while, but the feeling never lasted long. Just as soon as he’d convinced himself that he’d be alone again before he knew it, Parker would run up to him and take his hand and drag him back to the playroom to show him the pictures she’d drawn, or Eliot would creep into his spot beside Hardison on the couch and put his head on Hardison’s shoulder like it belonged there. (It did. _He_ did, and they both knew it.)

They all had _issues_ , and some, like Eliot’s PTSD or Parker’s paranoia, didn’t really have a cure, but Hardison didn’t mind. Eliot and Parker were special in their own ways, and they were more than their issues and more than their identities, even if being a little and being a sub were two very important parts of their lives and their lives with Hardison. At the end of the day, Eliot and Parker were just Eliot and Parker, and Hardison was just Hardison. 

It had always been as simple and as complicated as that.

Sometimes it was hard for _all_ of them to believe, but they knew, in the deep, true parts of their hearts, that they all loved each other just the way they were. There was something magical about love, and the more time Hardison spent with the two idiots _he_ loved, the more he was starting to think the magic wasn’t in the love, but in the Eliots and the Parkers of the world. 

Hardison placed a soft kiss to Parker’s forehead, brushed his lips over Eliot’s in the dim lighting of their bedroom, and thought to himself: _I am one damn lucky man_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
